


Fluff

by Stultiloquentia



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M, More Joy Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-01
Updated: 2009-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stultiloquentia/pseuds/Stultiloquentia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Daniel has hygiene problems and Jack channels a dead gay poet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fluff

Jack's mouth was hot and real and still a little startled as he pushed Daniel straight through the bedroom door of his D.C. townhouse and onto the big, unmade bed. Daniel's duffel was in the vestibule, his coat an abandoned drape across the back of a chair. Jack hadn't been expecting him until Friday. Daniel hadn't expected himself until Friday either, but he was finding out that having a partner (a real, by God, if we're doing this, we're fucking doing it _partner_ (and the word all by itself still made him hot every time he thought about it)) halfway across the country was working miracles on his ergomania.

Jack had established that he'd been fed and watered (sandwich, drive-thru, I'm fine), let him take off his shoes, and then he'd pounced: six feet and then some of almost-retired Air Force general (this time, for sure!), more white-haired than brown, allegedly still recovering from knee surgery, grinding him against the front door like a college kid before dragging him down the hall.

Daniel fisted his hand in Jack's pullover and yanked; Jack emerged from under it with static in his hair. It made snap-crackle-pop noises under Daniel's fingers as they kissed, and instead of voicing the joke they just grinned against each other's mouths.

The span of Jack's shoulders, the soft burn of his stubble, the solid immediacy of him made Daniel feel like he'd spent the last three months in a muffled, bleary hibernation, and now it was spring. The new-relationship shyness that had dogged him right up to Jack's doorstep vanished beneath a deluge of unambiguous sensory intel. He felt hungry and awake.

"Daniel," Jack growled. "Ngh, you're so—can I—" Their knuckles bumped as they both went after Daniel's belt. Then it was off, and everything else, too, and their bare skin touched, knees to foreheads, Daniel cool from the winter night, Jack toasty and smelling faintly of marinara. Their dicks slid together. Jack inhaled deeply and Daniel gave a loud, guttural groan.

He tried to pull his knees up and hook ankles over Jack's waist, but Jack scooted southward. "No, this way, let me, wanna taste you, I have been _so_ goddamn patient," he muttered as he went, and suited action to words, gnawing on Daniel's collarbone and lipping the rest of the way down. He engulfed Daniel's cock without preamble or prissiness, just bobbed his head and worked his tongue in an assured, efficient tease designed to set Daniel's whole body fizzing before he settled in for what Daniel liked best.

"Over," Jack commanded, and pushed at Daniel's hip until Daniel rolled himself onto his stomach, shuddering. "Oh, yeah." And then he paused, and let loose something very like a cackle against the knobs of Daniel's spine.

"What?"

"You have lint."

"I—have...?"

Jack smoothed a not-fantastically-erotic finger up toward Daniel's tailbone, then stuck it under his nose. Lint: plainly from the soft cotton shorts that had been flung into the corner a moment earlier.

"Well," Daniel managed eventually, "I've been at the Mountain all day riding herd on PR guys, and then I spent three hours stuck in an airplane. I _warned_ you I needed a shower, but you _leapt_—"

"Thou shalt not be on friendly terms," Jack interrupted, "with guys in advertising firms."

Daniel blinked. "Well, PR isn't quite the same thing as advertising, but these days I agree with the general sentiment..."

"Nor speak with such as read the Bible for its prose—" Jack shifted his weight and rumbled whatever the hell he had in his head into the small, dark space between Daniel's chin and the pillow.

Jack knew more poetry than Daniel; this was one of SG-1's better-kept secrets. It was partly due to a middle school teacher who'd made him memorize a poem every week, (a skill that came in stunningly handy twenty years later, and wouldn't the good woman have been startled to know how), and partly just because Jack was a closet aesthete whose fireproof basement in the Springs had housed not only the complete works of Puccini on cassette, but a handsome set of leather-bound anthologies from Petrarch to Auden.

"Nor, above all, make love to those who wash too much," he concluded triumphantly, and licked, wetly and with relish, behind Daniel's ear.

"GAK! Geroff," said Daniel, and bucked.

Jack lifted obligingly, but his hand flashed out and dove, and when Daniel landed it was to find his penis gently cupped in Jack's nice, warm palm. He squeezed lightly, his thumb precise. Daniel writhed.

"It's just fluff, Daniel. It's one of the inevitabilities of the universe. Like Barbara Walters, or pornotube."

Daniel lurched onto his elbows. "That is the _bad_ pillow talk!" He craned his head around to glare and found Jack silently laughing. "Seriously, let me go throw myself in your shower to two minutes. I'm all...fluffy, and kind of sweaty and I smell."

"You are no longer fluffy. You are defluffed." Jack made himself heavy and ground his dick into Daniel's cleft. "You smell like you just flew halfway across the country to get to me. I'm finding that unreasonably hot."

Daniel made a noise that meant _You are weirder than ninety percent of the aliens I've met_ and flopped back into the bedclothes.

"C'mon," Jack coaxed with voice and body. "Pass me the lube." He laid kisses along Daniel's shoulders, and it was so clearly self-indulgent, teasing his own lips as much as Daniel's skin, that Daniel abruptly brimmed with affection. Jack rumbled, "Wanna do you, Daniel. Now."

He replied by groping in the nightstand, but on his way back he twisted and hooked his arm behind Jack's head, because he needed to kiss him again. He kissed him as unreservedly and messily as he knew how. Jack took great and routine pleasure in being ridiculous, but his wisdom turned up in the strangest places.

*

If thou must choose  
Between the chances, choose the odd;  
Read The New Yorker, trust in God;  
And take short views.

* * *

eta: very small coda, for paian

Jack, after months of trying to inculcate Teal'c with the wisdom of The Marx Brothers and The Simpsons, accidentally outed his true colours to Daniel when some tag-along archeologist they were stuck with gazed up at a big, crumbling statue and spouted inanely, "My name is Ozymandias--"

Jack snapped, "And bits of me, many bits, will dodge all funeral. Let's _move_, people."

And realized about thirty seconds too late that _that_ Daniel was gonna recognize. It wasn't the moment Daniel fell in love, but it was definitely the moment he fell in astonishment, closely followed by i-need-to-take-off-all-your-clothes-and-turn-your-pockets-inside-out. Yeah, the rest of that hike was fun.


End file.
